Andrew Yablonski: The Unwanted One
by Mononoke-hime x sukai kurora
Summary: Dr. Andy "Andrew" Yablonski was orphaned at the age of two. Follow him as he endures his childhood with Rena to being a buglar to coming under the wing of Dr. William Foster.
1. Chapter 1

_January 21, 1978_

* * *

><p><em>Daniel Yablonski's POV<em>

Dr. Daniel Yablonski was driving carefully into the winter storm. He pushed aside an exasperated sigh and kept on driving through the heavily-pilling snow. If it were up to Daniel, he would be tucking his two small boys into bed, and fall asleep next to his wife before the next fifteen hour shift at Three Rivers.

Daniel Yablonski had helped his friend and colleague, Dr. William Foster, build the hospital. It had taken them longer than two years to build the organ transplant hospital, and it was worth every dime spent, and all the hours – sometimes days – they both spent away from their wives. At almost perfect timing, Daniel's youngest son, Andrew, was the first birthing Three Rivers had. A perfect gift. Daniel smiled widely at the memory.

Despite the weather, he looked back at the smallest sleeping face inside the 1973 car. Andrew was two years old now today. Today would have been the night Daniel would have sung the birthday song in Polish, lulling his small son asleep. Instead, here they were, driving through the most impossible weather Daniel had ever seen in the years he had immigrated to America to become a physician. His wife Erin, a pediatric surgeon, was in the passenger seat, his lips pressed together in a grim line. They both didn't want to be there.

But they had to. William had called, saying that it was an emergency. Both Daniel and Erin had to be at Three Rivers as soon as possible. The parents were unprepared, so they took their boys with them. It would be all right; they had that before when Logan and Andrew were babies.

Daniel was unprepared for the sleet of snow that came rushing forward. The white made him shut his eyes in pain. He felt Erin grip his hand as the car spun out of control.

He felt the instant pain of something as it crushed his chest.

Daniel Yablonski was instantly gone.

* * *

><p><em>Erin Zelasko's POV<em>

"Daniel…" Erin moaned. "Daniel…" Her sobs echoed through the crushed car. They had flipped over a number of times, she was certain of that. It was only when her husband's chest collided with the steering wheel did he die. Daniel was strong in many ways, but not in body. He had survived the death of his parents when he was a boy. He survived and faced the difficulties of being a Polish immigrant in America. And now the strong man that had captured Erin's heart was dead.

Erin moaned again, this time not out of grief. She was certain that she had a concussion and perhaps a few broken ribs. A gash had embedded itself on her forehead. _My sons,_ Erin forgot about her pain. Her sons, Andrew Jason Yablonski, two, and Logan William Yablonski, four, were in the car as well. Erin craned her neck to look in the backseat only to pull away and howl in grief.

Logan was dead. Tears now poured down her face. His sightless brown eyes haunted her memory. Erin moaned the name of her oldest son over and over again until she was out of breath. She sighed. Erin knew that she was dying. Perhaps it would be fitting, after all. Daniel and Logan, the joy of her life, were dead. She repeated it out loud to herself. "The joy of my life…"

_Andrew._

Erin stopped. Was little Andrew still alive? She looked around, and when her eyes meet the pale face and the closed eyes, Erin thought that her youngest son was dead. Not so. A moment later, she saw his small chest rise in a breath. Erin could feel wetness drip down her cheeks. Andrew was alive. And soon, the toddler would be the only one. Who would take care of him when she was gone? Who would…?

"I'm sorry," Erin murmured. "For leaving you."

She thought of her husband, and son.

Erin Zelasko died with a smile on her face.

* * *

><p>No more snow fell that night. There were no sounds, no noises. The only sound heard was a small boy crying for his family. He didn't understand why they didn't wake up. <em>"Mama! Papa! Logan!"<em> His cries echoed on deaf ears. Andrew suddenly shivered. He was cold. The two-year old laid his head against his brother's body for warmth. _Why is Logan cold?_ He thought. Slowly, Andrew fell asleep.

The ambulances arrived at the accident site early in the morning. Dr. Daniel Yablonski and Dr. Erin Zelasko, and their son, Logan, four, were reported dead on the scene.

The lone survivor, Andrew Yablonski, two, was only frostbitten.

* * *

><p><em>Dr. William Foster's POV<em>

His mind was numb. The words, which he could not understand, whispered in his head. "Dr. Yablonski, his son, and his wife are dead from a car accident, Dr. Foster." The words refused to have a meaning in his mind. "Their youngest son survived. We have to treat him for frostbite."

William's best friend and rival was dead. His wife. Logan had not survived the crash either.

How could this have happened?

Silently, William recalled the last happy memory he had of Daniel and his family.

* * *

><p>"Andrew!" William smirked as Daniel called out to his son. After all these years, Daniel had never lost his alluring Eastern European accent.<p>

The birthday boy looked over curiously over to his father. He slowly walked over to the six foot three man. "'Hat, Papa?" he squeaked.

William smiled fondly at the two-year old. Even though he just turned two – today, in fact – Andrew could mostly comprehend what the adults were saying. He responded. And he followed his older brother, Logan, like a dog.

Logan was sitting plates for the table. Studying his chocolate brown eyes, William couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking. Logan seemed older beyond his years. He fondly smiled at Miranda, his daughter, sitting in her highchair. Logan did the same.

William was so occupied in his thoughts that he almost missed Daniel's heavy Polish accent._ "Tort urodzinnowy,"_ he whispered in Andrew's ear.

"'Ort urod?" Andrew tried out the new word.

"_Tort urodzinnowy,"_ Daniel whispered again, this time loud enough for everyone to hear. "It means birthday cake, _Niski __Andrzej_." William smiled widely. That was Daniel's nickname for Andrew. _Niski_ meant small in Polish; the name Andrejwas the Polish form of the name Andrew. Daniel's nickname for Logan was _Orzeł Biały_, which meant white eagal. From the years he had spent with Daniel, he knew that the _orzeł biały_ was the nation coat of arms in Poland. William had laughed out loud when he first heard Daniel call his sons those nicknames, the day they were born. Daniel was a Polish nationalist. At first, he had laughed because he thought it was silly, but now William understood now that the nicknames were special.

The two boys had something children there age didn't have.

"'Ort urod?" When Daniel shook his head, Andrew began to cry, thinking that he had upset his _papa._

"Daniel!" Erin, Daniel's wife, appeared from baking Andrew's cake. "What kind of father are you that makes his child cry on his birthday?"

"One that teaches his children their national language?" Daniel tried. At his wife's expression, he turned to Andrew and wiped his eyes. _"__I przepraszam, Niki Andrej.__"_ I'm sorry. Along with the rants of why Poland was a better country than America, William had to tolerate his friend's foreign language lessons.

At the sound of his nickname since birth, Andrew looked up at his father. "Better, neh?" Daniel asked, smiling widely. Andrew nodded. "Good."

"So, Daniel," William had asked as Andrew went over to coo at Miranda with Logan, "do you think your boys will end up Polish nationalists like you?"

William still remembered his friend's laugh as he wrapped his arms around his wife's waist. "I don't know. We'll have to see, neh, _przyjaciel_?"

William still remembered hearing Daniel Yablonski's sweet tenor as he sang the "Poland-ized birthday song."

"_Sto lat , sto lat,  
>niech zyje zyje nam<em>

_sto lat, sto lat,_  
><em>niech zyje zyje nam<em>

_jescze raz eszcze raz_  
><em>niech zyje zyje nam<em>

_niech zyje nam."_

He can still hear Logan's nasally voice singing along with his father's, and Andrew's and Erin's glowing eyes.

"Dr. Foster?" A nurse's voice broke William's memories. "Your patient is ready to see you."

Dr. William Foster sighed. "Okay," he said. "I'm ready."

* * *

><p>He looked so small in the pediatric hospital bed. Andrew Yablonski was going to be okay. He had to stay at the hospital for week. Because of the severe frostbite and…other stuff. William sighed. A day he wished would never come. He can still hear Daniel directing him that he should "perish by getting beaten to death by a policeman," to take care of his family. There was hardly any family left. Only Andrew survived.<p>

He traced the face of the tiny orphan. Andrew didn't wake up. William sighed. The sigh seemed to have come deep from his chest.

"I know I'm not your _papa_," William muttered, "but I…I will sing for you. It's the least _I_ could do."

Slowly William began to sing.

"_Sto lat , sto lat,  
>niech zyje zyje nam<em>

_sto lat, sto lat,_  
><em>niech zyje zyje nam<em>

_jescze raz eszcze raz_  
><em>niech zyje zyje nam<em>

_niech zyje nam."_

It was only then that he allowed himself to cry.

* * *

><p>The solution to Andrew's loss of his parent and older brother was resolved in a week. William had heard that Andrew had an uncle that was willing to take care of the toddler, therefore, Andrew's adoption into the Foster family was no longer necessary.<p>

William still had his doubts. Who was this _Michael Zelasko_? Erin absentmindedly told him that her parents died ten years ago and she had no other family when they first met. That was in 1972.

Which meant Michael Zelasko was bad news.

"C'mere, Andrew," Michael said gruffly. William studied the short man. Michael did not look like his late sister at all. According to him, they hadn't seen each other in twenty years. William had all the right reasons to doubt that Michael was the person he said he was unless he counted the last name.

But the anguish on Michael's face upon hearing about his sister's death was evident.

Andrew shook his head, hiding behind William. _He doesn't like Michael, does he?_ William thought as Michael continued to stare impatiently at them. _I'm not surprised. _

Suddenly Michael crept over to where Andrew was hiding and scoped him up in his arms. Andrew's squeal of surprise was abruptly cut off with a slap to the face. Andrew instantly quieted.

"We'll be leaving now," Michael gruffly said, hulling Andrew over his shoulder. He didn't even look at William.

William didn't know what to say as the two walked away.

At the corner of his eye, William saw Andrew wave to him.

He thought he heard the whisper, "_Pożegnanie_, Do'to' Fost'r."

That was the last time Dr. William Foster saw Andrew Yablonski for fifteen years.


	2. Chapter 2

_January 21, 1979_

* * *

><p>Andrew Yablonski had the dream again. Those people in the long, white coats were holding him again. He thought he heard one of them say his name. Not the way Uncle Mike called out to him. Andy thought he heard the same voice sing. Was it a lullaby? Andrew wouldn't dare to ask. <em>"<em>_Sto lat, sto lat, niech zyje zyje nam."_ The voice sounded so beautiful when it was singing. Andrew repeated the words to himself. _"__Sto lat, sto lat, niech zyje zyje nam."_ The three-year old boy sang it almost like a rhyme. His voice sounded nasally. At the thought, Andrew absentmindedly touched his swollen lip and flinched.

Today was his third birthday. Unlike normal children that got presents from their parents, Andrew got nothing. Uncle Mike and Casper said that only_ good_ boys and girls got presents from their _alive_ parents. The boy shivered as he remembered as he remembered the sneers Uncle Mike and Casper made at the word alive. Andrew was an orphan. He didn't know what that word meant, but he knew he was one. Uncle Mike that they were family, and that Andrew should be grateful to him for taking him in. Andrew hugged his knees. He _was_ a good boy. Hadn't he done the dishes for Uncle Mike and Casper even while he hands were bleeding from the cuts he received for being "bad?" Andrew never resisted when they beat him or rubbed him against the rug. He never cried, and was being a "man" as the two men laughed at his weakness.

The people in the long, white coats were the little boy's only comfort. They made him feel...safe and loved. Andrew thought a thing never existed. Ever since he could remember, Uncle Mike told Andrew that _he _was the reason his parents and his older brother died. That was why he deserved to be beaten until he was black and blue. Andrew was being "bad." The two people in the coats never made him feel that way. They made him feel warm and safe. Andrew sometimes saw another boy around his age with them. Andrew looked exactly like him, down to the nose and dark hair. The only difference was their eyes; the boy's eyes were happy and brown; Andrew's were sad and blue. He hugged himself tighter at the knees and sang again. Never without fail, the song always made him feel better.

_"__Sto lat, sto lat, niech zyje zyje nam."_

Andrew smiled.

"What are you smiling at, boy?" a voice growled up behind him. Andrew tried to suppress a flinch and turned to find his uncle's blood-shot eyes staring at him.

"What are you smiling at, boy?" Uncle Mike growled again. His eyes bulged with rage.

Andrew whimpered, tears forming, not knowing – again – what to say.

"You little shit!" Uncle Mike finally lost control. He lifted the small boy up from the frayed clothes he was wearing and threw him across the room.

Andrew was silent. He just had to pretend that he was dead so that Uncle Mike would walk away. He was about to open his eyes when he heard his uncle's raspy voice. "It's your entire fault. You're nothing but a monster." Uncle Mike walked away, laughing, slamming the door behind him.

Andrew's lip trembled, and he tried not to cry.

But the tears came and they wouldn't stop.

The only sounds in the small house were sobs and a little voice singing _"__Sto lat, sto lat, niech zyje zyje nam"_ as he lied in his own pee.

* * *

><p><em>Crawling<em> – Linking Park

_Crawling in my skin  
>These wounds they will not heal.<br>Fear is how I fall  
>Confusing what is real.<em>

_There's something inside me that pulls beneath the surface_  
><em>Consuming, confusing.<em>  
><em>This lack of self-control I fear is never ending.<em>  
><em>Controlling, I can't seem<em>

_To find myself again_  
><em>My walls are closing in.<em>  
><em>Without a sense of confidence<em>

_And I'm convinced that there's _

_Just too much pressure to take.  
>I've felt this way before<br>So insecure._

_Crawling in my skin_  
><em>These wounds they will not heal.<em>  
><em>Fear is how I fall<em>  
><em>Confusing what is real.<em>

_Discomfort, endlessly has pulled itself upon me_  
><em>Distracting, reacting.<em>  
><em>Against my will I stand beside my own reflection<em>  
><em>It's haunting how I can't seem...<em>

_To find myself again._  
><em>My walls are closing in.<em>  
><em>Without a sense of confidence<em>

_And I'm convinced that there's _

_Just too much pressure to take.  
>I've felt this way before<br>So insecure._

_Crawling in my skin_  
><em>These wounds they will not heal.<em>  
><em>Fear is how I fall<em>  
><em>Confusing what is real.<em>

_Crawling in my skin_  
><em>These wounds they will not heal.<em>  
><em>Fear is how I fall<em>  
><em>Confusing what is real.<em>


	3. Chapter 3

_September, 1981_

* * *

><p>Today was Andrew's first day of school. He was going into kindergarten. Normally children his age would be afraid to leave homes. This five-year old was glad to get out of the house. Nor was he a normal child. Andrew was forgotten child, and an unwanted one. He would later learn the term that described children such as him: an abused child. The abuse hadn't lessened or gotten worse; it simply numbed. Andrew learned to not feel anything. The man and woman, with their boy, that had created a comfort during his early days with Uncle Mike and Casper, ceased to exist. Their limited existence was a lie, and a dream, to Andrew, that would never come true.<p>

Andrew now believed that he would never love, and no one would ever love him.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of screaming children running into the school. Andrew stepped back and flinched. He watched them from afar, burning with envy and anger. He hated loud noises. It made the boy think of… No, he couldn't think about that. Andrew wished that he would someday laugh and play like the others, but he couldn't. He watched from afar, Uncle Mike's hand lingering on his thin shoulder. Thinking about playing, like the warm man and woman in the long white coats, were just a dream that would never come true.

* * *

><p>Andrew blinked at the bright light in the classroom. It was so bright, it made him feel dizzy. Holding his breath, the boy decided to observe his classmates. There were many boys in clean clothes, playing loudly. There were many girls with long hair, their hair glistening with braids. All of them had parents. Andrew swallowed uncomfortably, and shifted his feet. His teacher was talking animatedly to the parents. Andrew noticed that she liked talking with her hands a lot, and he was about to call out in warning to one of the parents that his teacher was going to hit them when she suddenly laid her hands at her sides and smiled. Andrew gaped at his teacher. He thought hands were only used for hitting and beating.<p>

"She's nice, isn't she?" whispered a voice behind him. Andrew turned around, almost falling out of his seat. Standing next to him was a dark-haired girl. Unlike the other girls, this one wore hers short, and unlike all the others all together, she was not next to her parents. Andrew felt suddenly ashamed. His clothes were nothing like hers. His were frayed and had many holes in them, while hers was fresh and clean. Who was she? He stared at her eyes. They were the same brown as the people in the white and long coat's son. Andrew would later describe his future wife as _independent_, but back then he thought of her as simply _brave._

"Where are your parents?" the girl asked Andrew. She was looking at him curiously.

"Gone," Andrew said. It was the only way he was able to describe it. He saw the girl's brown eyes widen in surprise.

Breaking his silence, Andrew spoke. "What is your name?" he asked, not willing to meet her eyes.

"Me?" she asked. The girl, whoever she was, was interrupted by the teacher.

"Class," the teacher said in an excited voice, "get in your seats."

Everyone obeyed. Andrew stayed behind until everyone was so seated. He sat down. The teacher wanted everyone to say their name and say what they wanted to be when you grew up. It was interesting. There was a girl, Amy, who wanted to be a firefighter, and then there was a boy named Will who wanted to be in the Navy. Andrew's interest was sparked when the girl that he spoke to, Rena, wanted to be a detective. Andrew's brow crinkled. According to Uncle Mike, detectives were bad people that would hurt him. He instinctively wanted to protect Rena. _A pretty name, Rena._ Andrew suddenly thought.

"Andrew?" He looked up. The teacher was looking at him curiously. "It's your turn to go, sweetie." She smiled, and Andrew had a sudden desire to shiver. From what he heard from the others, he did not want to go into the military. He most certainly did not want to be surrounded by snot-nosed – or shit-faced, Uncle Mike said – and screaming kids as a teacher. The teacher called his name again, and Andrew caught some of the other children snicker at his last name, Yablonski.

"I…" Andrew hesitated, not knowing what to say. He saw the teacher nodded to him, and if Andrew had turned around, he would have seen Rena nod in encouragement as well. "I want to be a doctor."

He finally said it. The two warm people in the long white coats seemed so safe and welcoming. It sounded as if they had kept their promises, and hurt anyone. If that's what they were, the man and woman in the long, white coats, he wanted to be just like them. He wanted to be a healer. That was what doctors were, right?

Andrew Yablonski was unprepared for the laughter that drummed his ears. He noticed that each of his classmates was laughing, and that the teacher was gazing at him with pity in her eyes. _Do not cry,_ Andrew told himself firmly. He felt someone staring at him, and he turned around to gaze in Rena's eyes. Like his heroes, her gaze melted all the pain away.

* * *

><p>"Andrew?"<p>

Andrew looked up to find Rena gazing at him. Her head was tilted to one side, and her eyes were troubled. Andrew couldn't look in her eyes, and stared at his frayed shoes instead.

"I believe you can be a doctor, Andrew." Rena said. Andrew looked up in surprise. He knew that she was staring at his cracked lips, the purplish tingle around his face, and chipped tooth, but at that moment, nothing mattered.

Rena sat beside him. She looked him, with something in her eyes that made Andrew wish that he had. He almost missed what she said to him. "You may be weird, Andrew, but I'll always watch over you."

The five-year old boy watched memorized at the taller girl walked away with confident steps. When the teacher called for the students to come inside, Andrew as always paused before going. But this time was different. He watched as Rena went to stand in line. Somehow she knew that he was watching her, and she smiled at him.

He smiled back. His first smile. For the first time, Andrew Yablonski felt confidence, and he felt the confidence of someone that he admired.

That person was a girl as old as him. And her name was Rena.

* * *

><p><em>In The End<em> – Linkin Park

_It starts with one thing_

_I don't know why  
>It doesn't even matter how hard you try.<br>Keep that in mind, I designed this rhyme  
>To explain in due time.<br>All I know  
>Time is a valuable thing.<br>Watch it fly by as the pendulum swings.  
>Watch it count down to the end of the day.<br>The clock ticks life away.  
>It's so unreal.<br>Didn't look out below.  
>Watch the time go right out the window.<br>Trying to hold on but didn't even know  
>Wasted it all just to<br>Watch you go_

_I kept everything inside_

_and even though I tried, it all fell apart.  
>What it meant to me will eventually <em>

_Be a memory of a time when I tried so hard  
>And got so far.<br>But in the end  
>It doesn't even matter.<em>

_I had to fall_  
><em>To lose it all.<em>  
><em>But in the end<em>  
><em>It doesn't even matter.<em>

_One thing, I don't know why_  
><em>It doesn't even matter how hard you try.<em>  
><em>Keep that in mind, I designed this rhyme<em>  
><em>To remind myself how<em>  
><em>I tried so hard.<em>  
><em>In spite of the way you were mocking me<em>  
><em>Acting like I was part of your property.<em>  
><em>Remembering all the times you fought with me<em>  
><em>I'm surprised it got so far.<em>  
><em>Things aren't the way they were before<em>  
><em>You wouldn't even recognize me anymore.<em>  
><em>Not that you knew me back then<em>  
><em>But it all comes back to me<em>  
><em>In the end.<em>

_You kept everything inside_

_And even though I tried, it all fell apart.  
>What it meant to me will eventually <em>

_Be a memory of a time when I tried so hard_


	4. Chapter 4

_1986_

* * *

><p>"Hey, look! It's Andrew the Jew!"<p>

Andrew turned and narrowed his eyes. He faced his enemy, Brandon and the sidekick, Joey. Andrew Yablonski was the main target for the two bullies. Andrew was small and skinny. He still was covered in bruises and was undernourished. His clothes were still rags. Still, Andrew _had_ changed in the five years since he met his only friend, Rena. He now held his head high even as the taunts and beatings throughout the years by Uncle Mike had steadily gotten worse over the five-year period. Rena was silent when Andrew appeared at school the next day with a number of new bruises, and walked with a limp, but she didn't say anything.

Andrew liked it that way. It suited his ever-lasting silence fine.

"Hey, I'm taking to you!" Brandon yelled, aiming a rock at Andrew's head. "Hey, Jew!" The rock landed squarely on his head. Andrew turned. His lips became a thin line. Andrew wasn't a Jew. It was a nickname that everyone in the fifth grade – minus Rena – that they decided to like for the poor outcast. Especially Brandon. Little did Andrew know that his father's parents were Jewish Holocaust survivors. In a way, Andrew was a survivor too. He survived the car crash that killed his family, and endured the pain and suffering that was put upon him by the last person he was blood related to. Still, he didn't feel like a survivor. Andrew felt afraid all the time. When he came home from school, he always prepared himself for another round of insults and physical pain. Andrew could still hear Uncle Mike's laughter ringing in his ears. It was always then that Andrew wanted to disappear, exactly like the time Rena got bruises from defending Andrew as he stood behind the sidelines.

He was always frightened.

Rena was a true friend. Then why wasn't he one? Last week, she threw her sandwich at Brandon when he called Andrew Cheese Clothes. She even accepted the nickname Nazi for being ruthless to Andrew's enemies and tormentors. It was the Jew and the Nazi against the world. If only it could be that simple.

Uncle Mike wanted Andrew to be a "man" and tough. Rena wanted Andrew to stand up for himself. But the skinny and pale boy could do neither.

Sometimes Andrew Yablonski wondered if his life would be different if his parents and brother hadn't died. Maybe he would be happier. Be safe.

Be loved.

He didn't feel that way now. The boy felt lost, faceless. Andrew felt as if every step he took and every breath he took was a mistake. He desperately wanted to be a doctor, to feel the scalpel in his hands, and be the one to save lives. To save his life. But every time he thought about it, Andrew Yablonski had doubts.

Would Rena lose faith in him one day?

Would he lose faith in himself?

Was _he_ a mistake?

To Rena and to Uncle Mike?

And the one question entered his mind again. Would he ever belong?

* * *

><p><em>Numb<em> – Linkin Park

_I'm tired of being what you want me to be.  
>Feeling so faithless, lost under the surface.<br>Don't know what you're expecting of me  
>Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes.<br>Caught in the undertow, just caught in the undertow.  
>Every step that I take is another mistake to you.<br>Caught in the undertow, just caught in the undertow._

_I've become so numb, I can't feel you there_  
><em>Become so tired, so much more aware.<em>  
><em>I'm becoming this, all I want to do<em>  
><em>Is be more like me and be less like you.<em>

_Can't you see that you're smothering me,_  
><em>Holding too tightly, afraid to lose control?<em>  
><em>'Cause everything that you thought I would be<em>  
><em>Has fallen apart right in front of you.<em>  
><em>Caught in the undertow, just caught in the undertow.<em>  
><em>Every step that I take is another mistake to you.<em>  
><em>Caught in the undertow, just caught in the undertow<em>  
><em>And every second I waste is more than I can take.<em>

_I've become so numb, I can't feel you there,_  
><em>Become so tired, so much more aware<em>  
><em>I'm becoming this, all I want to do<em>  
><em>Is be more like me and be less like you.<em>

_And I know_  
><em>I may end up failing too.<em>  
><em>But I know<em>  
><em>You were just like me with someone disappointed in you.<em>

_I've become so numb, I can't feel you there,_  
><em>Become so tired, so much more aware.<em>  
><em>I'm becoming this, all I want to do<em>  
><em>Is be more like me and be less like you.<em>

_I've become so numb, I can't feel you there._  
><em>I'm tired of being what you want me to be<em>  
><em>I've become so numb, I can't feel you there.<em>  
><em>I'm tired of being what you want me to be<em>


	5. Chapter 5

_1990_

* * *

><p>Years past. Andrew Yablonski was fourteen. He rushed past the houses as he ran, panting heavily. He paid no attention to the bricks of the houses stained with graffiti and filth, or of the echoes of his own feet as the tall boy kept on running. The boy was taller than his friend Rena now, and stronger. The clothes Uncle Mike had given him years before were too short and too tight around his chest and his pants were always loose around his waist. It was as if Andrew was choking at times. Other times, he felt loose and exhausted. However, what the boy truly felt was anger.<p>

Anger was his constant companion. It was with him when the boys at school taunted him for his bruises and clothes that always seemed to never disappear. Andrew knew they wanted him to break and to fight physically with them, as Rena had before. They wanted him to fight back with all he had. Andrew kept all the anger inside. He kept the anger inside him as Uncle Mike lied to him and taunted him. Uncle Mike was a thief, Andrew knew that much. Uncle Mike came in late at night when Andrew was still awake as his fist trembled with pain and release. When his throat still trembled from screaming. Uncle Mike was a lair.

Just like Andrew himself.

Andrew lied to himself.

To Rena.

And to the others.

Were Andrew and his uncle really so different from each other?

Andrew wanted to learn the answers and find the truth. He wanted to be someone he wasn't. Everyday he wanted to have a different life, but he couldn't. He had Rena and Uncle Mike. He had them...but he couldn't help but wish for something more. All he wanted were answers to why he felt so empty at times and at other times consumed by anger and other uncontrollable emotions.

The man and woman in the long white coats – the doctors – were gone.

Someone that he would _never _be.

_Why?_ Andrew kept asking himself. _Why?_

* * *

><p><em> Runaway <em>– Linkin Park

_Graffiti decorations  
>Under a sky of dust<br>A constant wave of tension  
>On top of broken trust.<br>The lessons that you taught me  
>I learn were never true.<br>Now I find myself in question.  
>They point the finger at me again<br>Guilty by association.  
>You point the finger at me again.<em>

_I wanna run away_  
><em>Never say goodbye.<em>  
><em>I wanna know the truth<em>  
><em>Instead of wondering why.<em>  
><em>I wanna know the answers<em>  
><em>No more lies.<em>  
><em>I wanna shut the door<em>  
><em>And open up my mind.<em>

_Paper bags and angry voices_  
><em>Under a sky of dust<em>  
><em>Another wave of tension<em>  
><em>Has more than filled me up.<em>  
><em>All my talk of taking action<em>  
><em>These words were never true.<em>  
><em>Now I find myself in question.<em>  
><em>They point the finger at me again<em>  
><em>Guilty by association.<em>  
><em>You point the finger at me again.<em>

_I wanna run away_  
><em>Never say goodbye.<em>  
><em>I wanna know the truth<em>  
><em>Instead of wondering why.<em>  
><em>I wanna know the answers<em>  
><em>No more lies.<em>  
><em>I wanna shut the door<em>  
><em>And open up my mind.<em>

_I'm gonna run away_

_ and never say goodbye.  
>Gonna run away gonna run away <em>

_ gonna run away gonna run away.  
>I'm gonna run away and never wonder why.<br>Gonna run away gonna run away_

_ gonna run away gonna run away.  
>I'm gonna run away and open up my mind.<br>Gonna run away gonna run away _

_ gonna run away _

_ Gonna run away gonna run away_

_ gonna run away _

_Gonna run away gonna run away._

_I wanna run away_  
><em>Never say goodbye.<em>  
><em>I wanna know the truth<em>  
><em>Instead of wondering why.<em>  
><em>I wanna know the answers<em>  
><em>No more lies.<em>  
><em>I wanna shut the door<em>  
><em>And open up my mind.<em>

_I wanna run away_  
><em>and open up my mind.<em>  
><em>I wanna run away<em>  
><em>and open up my mind.<em>  
><em>I wanna run away<em>  
><em>and open up my mind.<em>  
><em>I wanna run away<em>  
><em>and open up my mind.<em>


	6. Chapter 6

_1992_

* * *

><p>Uncle Mike's offer still ran through Andrew's mind.<p>

"You can help me, kid." Uncle Mike's raspy voice entered Andrew's consciousness again and all else disappeared, including Rena talking beside the sixteen-year old. "I realize now that you're the only one I got, and you to me. You're going to belong, Andrew, and I promise I'll never hurt you again."

"Andrew?" Rena's voice broke Andrew's thoughts. His eyes popped open to find Rena gazing at him with fear in her eyes.

"You're doing it again, aren't you?" Rena tried to clutch Andrew's hand but he pulled away. "It's as if everything has disappeared, Andrew, when I talk to you." Andrew's eyes shied away from Rena's own. "Ever since I wanted to talk to you about..."

"The abuse?" he whispered. It was then that he met Rena's eyes. Red-rimmed eyes met Andrew's dry. He licked his lips, and let out a raspy laugh. "How long have you known?"

"Long enough." Rena whispered. As if she had never met him before, she stated calmly, "You need help."

_Rena is going to be a great cop one day. _At the thought, Andrew's hint of a smile vanished. Cops were now his enemies. If he was going to be a burglar and working for Uncle Mike with Casper and Paul, no one could be trusted. Andrew looked at Rena. Her short brown hair that had captivated her throughout their childhood was now shoulder-length. The breeze made it blow in the wind softly, and Andrew wondered how long he had felt these feelings for his only friend.

A single tear traveled down her cheek and Andrew cupped it in his hand before it fell. There was pain evident in her eyes and it was not for the first time that Andrew wished he could take the pain away.

"I'm helping Uncle Mike with his business."

Rena didn't say anything as he walked away from her.

"You're free from me now, Rena."

She didn't try to stop him.

Andrew walked away.

* * *

><p>The next day, Rena came up to him in the hallway. She stood beside him as his back pressed against the wall. Her voice didn't match her eyes, which looked like they were very far away.<p>

"You're on your own now, Andrew. Fend for yourself."

Andrew didn't say anything as she walked away.

The next moment after that, Andrew got into a fight with bullies. He broke one kid's arm. Andrew was suspended from school for two weeks.

* * *

><p>"You ready, kid?"<p>

Andrew nodded at the sound of Casper's brooding voice. Behind him, he heard Paul snicker as Casper shared a quiet joke. Andrew ignored them as he continued to pick the locks. The only compliment Uncle Mike gave him when the three returned from robbing houses were Andrew's hands. "He's a very talented boy," Uncle Mike had said. "He has good hands."

Andrew snuck in. It was now 1993. Andrew was seventeen.

Instead of being an abused and forgotten youth, Andrew was a burglar. A criminal. It felt good, being a burglar, Andrew thought to himself as he cautiously drew the flashlight out of his pocket and clicked it on. He didn't give a damn about the money. Uncle Mike, Casper, and Paul grinned with glee at the sight of the valuables he would rob from the houses. Andrew robbed people to forget. It was a release, better than anything Andrew had experienced before. For the first time, even around Rena, Andrew felt safe. He felt alive and was doing something. He was doing something to forget the anger and sadness whenever Andrew looked at _him_, and at his life. But deep down inside him, he knew it was wrong.

A sudden noise caused him to turn around.

There was a man in front of him. He was only clad in his pajamas, and in his shaking hands, pointed at Andrew's chest, was a gun. Despite being armed, the man glanced nervously at Andrew's own gun and swallowed.

Andrew would have laughed if the scene wasn't so serious. But the laughter died in his throat.

"Why are you doing this?" the man asked, staring at his intruder. The gun was still pointed at Andrew's chest. "Who are you?" he asked.

Andrew didn't respond at first. He then clicked the trigger on his own gun, ignoring the tremors that shook his hands. "If you leave me alone, no one will get hurt." He took a breath. Andrew's heart raced. "Just...let me go."

"A boy like you should be-"

"Shut up!" Andrew yelled. He pointed the gun at the man's head. "Let me go," he repeated firmly.

The man started to tremble but his voice was still strong. "Why?"

Something inside Andrew flared, flickered, and then died.

"Why the hell do you care?" Andrew hoarsely demanded. The emotions – the ones that had followed him through childhood – were threatening to overwhelm him once again.

Again.

Andrew barely heard the man ask the question again.

Yes, why?

"I'm doing this because…I have to."

"Have to?" the man repeated. "You don't have to do anything, boy." Now the man seemed to drop his guard.

It took a while for Andrew to answer. "I do it, because…I have to feel alive. I _want _to feel alive. I…" He faltered for a second. "I…ever since I began doing this, I started to feel safe. I was… doing something. Something to forget the anger and sadness whenever I looked at _him_, and at my life. But I knew it was wrong, and I felt afraid all the time, and it was as if I was wrong. I would have killed myself if I didn't do the things I did to…"

"To what?"

"To forget." Andrew finished.

_I want this to end, _he thought. _I don't care…I don't care if I go to prison. I just want this to end._

"My name is Andrew."

The voice that vibrated from Andrew's mouth did not belong to him. _It ends here…_ The man nodded to the seventeen-year old boy. _Uncle Mike will hurt me again, and I'll continue to lie to myself…._

_Rena. _

At the last thought, Andrew dropped his gun.

"You know what, Andrew, you can hear the wake up call or walk away."

There seemed to be something in the tall seventeen year old boy with blue eyes and dark brown bangs that he had never felt before. The man nodded to him again.

And at that moment, a shot rang out.

Two shots.

Agonizing pain erupted from both his legs. Andrew thought he heard a scream that was not his own. He heard voices as the world stared to fade.

He blacked out, falling in his own blood.

Andrew Yablonski was shot from behind by his partners-in-crime, Casper and Paul. Then they ran away.

* * *

><p>As monitors beeped all around him, and as the pounding in his head nauseated his whole body, and as a voice shouted above all the noise, Andrew thought of Rena.<p>

Her smile and the nose that he loved so much.

"Rena…"

He blacked out.

* * *

><p><em>Somewhere I Belong<em> – Linkin Park

_When this began  
>I had nothing to say<br>And I get lost in the nothingness inside of me.  
>I was confused<br>And I let it all out to find  
>That I'm not the only person with these things in mind<br>Inside of me.  
>But all that they can see the words revealed<br>Is the only real thing that I've got left to feel.  
>Nothing to lose<br>Just stuck, hollow and alone  
>And the fault is my own, and the fault is my own.<em>

_I wanna heal, I wanna feel what I thought was never real._  
><em>I wanna let go of the pain I've felt so long.<em>  
><em>Erase all the pain till it's gone.<em>  
><em>I wanna heal, I wanna feel like I'm close to something real.<em>  
><em>I wanna find something I've wanted all along.<em>  
><em>Somewhere I belong.<em>

_And I've got nothing to say_  
><em>I can't believe I didn't fall right down on my face.<em>  
><em>I was confused<em>  
><em>Looking everywhere only to find<em>  
><em>That it's not the way I had imagined it all in my mind.<em>  
><em>So what am I?<em>  
><em>What do I have but negativity<em>  
><em>'Cause I can't justify the way, everyone is looking at me.<em>  
><em>Nothing to lose<em>  
><em>Nothing to gain, hollow and alone<em>  
><em>And the fault is my own, and the fault is my own.<em>

_I wanna heal, I wanna feel what I thought was never real._  
><em>I wanna let go of the pain I've felt so long.<em>  
><em>Erase all the pain till it's gone.<em>  
><em>I wanna heal, I wanna feel like I'm close to something real.<em>  
><em>I wanna find something I've wanted all along<em>  
><em>Somewhere I belong.<em>

_I will never know myself until I do this on my own._  
><em>And I will never feel anything else, until my wounds are healed.<em>  
><em>I will never be anything till I break away from me.<em>  
><em>I will break away, I'll find myself today.<em>

_I wanna heal, I wanna feel what I thought was never real._  
><em>I wanna let go of the pain I've felt so long.<em>  
><em>Erase all the pain till it's gone.<em>  
><em>I wanna heal, I wanna feel like I'm close to something real.<em>  
><em>I wanna find something I've wanted all along<em>  
><em>Somewhere I belong.<em>

_I wanna heal, I wanna feel like I'm somewhere I belong._  
><em>I wanna heal, I wanna feel like I'm somewhere I belong.<em>  
><em>Somewhere I belong.<em>


	7. Chapter 7

_December 9, 1993_

* * *

><p><em>Dr. William Foster's POV<em>

William knew that he would see Andrew again. It was only a matter of time. Sometimes, instead of thinking about his daughter, Miranda, or his wife, or even Sophia Jordan, his mind would wrap around the boy that had belonged to his most treasured friend.

Now Dr. Daniel Yablonski was dead, and the only surviving family member was his son, Andrew, who had been two at the time of his father's death.

William wondered how much Andrew had changed. He knew that the boy would have been most likely traumatized by the caretaker and Erin's brother, Mike. The adorable two-year old would be seventeen now. _Seventeen and rebellious. _William grinned at the thought of his estranged daughter, Miranda, who was around Andrew's age. He hadn't forgotten that it was him that had almost adopted the little Andrew Jason Yablonski before he was snatched away by _Uncle Mike_.

William imagined Andrew to be like most teenagers. He envisioned his daughter when he thought about the boy. It had been fifteen years since William had seen the boy, and truth be told, he didn't expect to see him for a while.

He didn't expect a troubled seventeen-year old youth with penetrative gunshot wounds in both legs and bleeding blood more than the expected amount.

He didn't expect to see a younger version of Daniel Yablonski pale and shaking with unfocused eyes. Erin's eyes.

No, Dr. William Foster did not expect this.

* * *

><p>The first noise Andrew awoke to was beeping. It pounded louder into his head until the teen squeezed his eyes in pain from the nausea. There was erupting pain from both his legs, and Andrew fought the urge to scream. Dizziness added to the confusion and disorientation in his mind, and Andrew squinted his eyes open.<p>

The room was bright. Andrew was surrounded by white walls and through trembling hands he could see the sun shining in the room, making, again, the room too bright for Andrew's liking. He shied his eyes away again and focused his attention downward.

His hands were whiter than the thin sheets that covered the boy's body. Through the transparent sheets, Andrew saw that he was wearing a gown. A sharp prick at his hand told him that the boy was connected to an IV._ IV?_ Andrew thought, suppressing a shake. _Where the hell am I? And why does this place smell like alcohol and why does it make my head pound? _Thinking about his head pound made the youth collide with the blankets. It seemed that his body sighed with relief at the feel of the ever-lasting softness.

_Where's Uncle Mike? _Andrew fuzzily thought. He was finding it hard to control his thoughts. They seemed to be slipping. _Paul? Casper…?_ With each passing thought the boy was slipping into oblivion. _This pain… hurts. _A sharp pain running down into his legs threatened to pull him under again.

This is what exactly Andrew's conscious wanted. The boy moaned, out of pain, exhaustion, or nausea he couldn't tell.

_Rena… Where are you?_

These were his last thoughts as the boy's body gave up and slept.

* * *

><p><em>Dr. William Foster's POV<em>

Dr. William Foster watched as Andrew regained consciousness, fought against the pain from the prior surgery to remove the four bullets, and slipped back into the blissful state of oblivion.

William watched with concerned eyes as he watched Andrew's heart monitor. It showed the Andrew's heart was good, steady, and strong. _Strong as he is,_ the physician thought as Andrew's pale form breathed. _And he'll have to be._ William grimaced at the last thought.

Andrew was lucky. That's what it came down to, always.

The boy was lucky.

The four bullets that had pierced Andrew's legs had missed the vital arteries and veins. His organs and bones were intact. There seemed to be no internal damage. Sophia, his intern, thought that the boy would be fine to go home in about a week. Before when he first assisted the boy and wheeled him into the OR, William thought the same.

How wrong they were.

The boy had no home to go to. He was raised by thugs, abused and unwanted and unloved. An orphan. During the last 48 hours, Three Rivers hospital had received no calls from home or any other family or friend concerning the five eleven boy.

It was simple, even more painful to say that it was simpler than that.

The seventeen-year old boy was alone. He had no one.

On a more pressing issue, Andrew Yablonski had damage resulted from the bullet wounds – minor damage in the case of the field, but damage nonetheless. The two penetrative gunshot bullets were easily removed, but the other two – deeper in – were an issue. The two bullets in the boy's back calves took a while to remove, and it wasn't until later that William realized in the recovery room that the teen's body was effected by the two bullets that had been embattled in the calves.

The boy would experience bouts of severe pain, nausea, disorientation, and exhaustion for a while. He also damaged some muscle.

William wasn't certain if the boy would have to use a wheelchair as his first mode of transportation for awhile.

William sighed and rubbed his sore temples. It had been a rough night. In more way s than one. He glanced at the sleeping boy. For once, he looked peaceful. William privately wondered if Andrew Yablonski had ever felt peaceful during the fifteen years since they last met. Thinking about Andrew made William think about Daniel, the boy's father, and his own best friend and colleague. He could almost feel Daniel Yablonski's breath around his ear and the annoying question that always popped into his mind. That question that Daniel used to use frequently to dissolve the tension in the ER. _"Is he dead yet?"_ Then, _"No? C'mon, Americans, we'd better give this guy another chance."_

Yes, that was Daniel's favorite saying all right. A second chance.

William took the son of Daniel Yablonski's hands in his own. The smaller, lighter hands seemed heavy in his own warm and secure one.

"I'll be here for you, kid," he whispered. William's blue eyes met the boy's face. "I'll be here for you if you don't give up, okay? Give yourself another chance, all right?"

The man gave the younger hand a small squeeze. The boy still didn't wake up.

Still, as William moved onto his next patient, Andrew Yablonski seemed more relaxed as he slept and his skin appeared to have more life to it.

He even thought the boy was smiling as he dreamed.

* * *

><p>Andrew slowly opened his eyes. The pan in his eyes had disappeared in the weeks – and months - he had been at Three Rivers.<p>

He was now free. Free. Free from child abuse. Being a criminal. Free from being a caged patient.

And free from Uncle Mike. Along with the ever-present pain meds and numbing walks with Dr. Foster – the only person in the place that seemed to trust him – that persisted throughout the day, Andrew still couldn't help but think something wasn't right.

Uncle Mike, Casper, and Paul had been caught and were now locked up, and Andrew wasn't certain what would become of him. Dr. Foster said they would "figure it out" later." Andrew couldn't give a damn of what happened to Uncle Mike, Casper, and Paul. He didn't care if they were locked up forever. Andrew told himself that he would break away from all that… sanity and pain, but what now? The boy was still critically wounded, and pretty much an inmate from the cold politeness he got from the staff and an officer came by for a warrant for Andrew's arrest. Dr. Foster said "wait."

Plus, there was no Rena.

Had he lost Rena as well? As a child, the thought would have paralyzed Andrew with cold fear. Now, however….

It was indifferent. What happened had happened. Rena was no longer his friend.

Why did he feel so empty when he thought of her then?

Andrew had no answers.

One thing was for certain. Andrew was going to have to get better. In body. In mind. In soul.

He had to relearn himself. Ever since he could remember, Andrew Yablonski wanted to be a doctor. What kind of doctor Andrew had no idea until now.

Andrew wanted to be a doctor like Dr. William Foster.

The man had trusted him when no one else would, and treated him as an equal and not as a lowly "inmate." There was also something Andrew felt about the man that he thought he had seen before.

Had he known the man before?

Med schools and colleges were not friendly to those that had a past, especially Andrew's.

But he could do it. Andrew could be someone that he always wanted to be.

He knew he could.

Why else would Dr. Foster take him in when no one else would?

Why else would his uncle drop twenty thousand dollars to him to enter "a new life?"

Why else would Rena come back for him and say "I'll always watch out for you?"

Thinking about all these things reminded Andrew of conversation that he had before with Dr. William Foster.

The day of his discharge, Andrew had asked, "Hey Dr. Foster, what is like doing the work that you do? Like cutting a person open and saving them? Is it…better than this? …Better than what I did?"

Dr. Foster had only smiled. "What do you think, Andrew?"

Andrew was silent for a moment. Then when he found his voice, Andrew found that he meant what he had asked.

"I want to thank you…Dr. Foster, for what you've done for me.'"_ Andrew was saying goodbye._ "I've decided, I…aim to be like you. I know it'll be a tough road…but I want to do some good in this world. Like you."

He wanted to change one thing.

The eighteen-year old wanted to change his name. Not in a literal sense, of course.

Andrew Yablonski wanted to be known as Andy Yablonski

His name would now be Andy Yablonski.

_Andy Yablonski. _

* * *

><p><em>What I've Done – <em>Linkin Park

_In this farewell  
>There's no blood<br>There's no alibi  
>'Cause I've drawn regret<br>From the truth  
>Of a thousand lies.<em>

_So let mercy come_  
><em>And wash away<em>  
><em>What I've done.<em>

_I'll face myself_  
><em>To cross out what I've become.<em>  
><em>Erase myself<em>  
><em>And let go of what I've done.<em>

_Put to rest_  
><em>What you thought of me.<em>  
><em>While I clean this slate<em>  
><em>With the hands of uncertainty.<em>

_So let mercy come_  
><em>And wash away<em>  
><em>What I've done.<em>

_I'll face myself_  
><em>To cross out what I've become.<em>  
><em>Erase myself.<em>  
><em>And let go of what I've done.<em>

_For what I've done_  
><em>I start again<em>  
><em>And whatever pain may come<em>  
><em>Today this ends.<em>  
><em>I'm forgiving what I've done.<em>

_I'll face myself_  
><em>To cross out what I've become.<em>  
><em>Erase myself.<em>  
><em>And let go of what I've done<em>  
><em>What I've done.<em>  
><em>Forgiving what I've done.<em>


End file.
